


What's Up Danger?

by TheScorpionSleeps



Category: Far Cry (Video Games), Far Cry 5
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Evelyn Rook, Eventual Smut, Explicit Language, F/M, Flirting, Marshal Rook, The Author Regrets Nothing, The Seeds Should Be Their Own Warning, This Is Far Cry, Two Vets Walk In To A Bar, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-04
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2021-03-08 05:13:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26820112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheScorpionSleeps/pseuds/TheScorpionSleeps
Summary: Rook is on her way to becoming a U.S. Marshal, but while on a scenic route to basic training she stumbles upon a certain red-head.
Relationships: Female Deputy | Judge & Jacob Seed, Female Deputy | Judge/Jacob Seed
Comments: 6
Kudos: 26





	What's Up Danger?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first time I've posted anything online in over 5 years, I'm a little nervous. Please enjoy!

Rook still remembered the heat coming off the blacktop that summer when she walked out of the terminal at Hartsfield-Jackson – Atlanta was practically boiling. 

It wasn’t the dry, scorching heat of Iraq, but the heat in Georgia was no less oppressive and it was fucking  _ humid  _ as shit. Two steps out and her tee was already beginning to cling to her chest and as tempting as it was to just turn and go back inside where they had  _ AC _ , she wasn’t about to sit down and make herself comfortable at one of the airport bars. 

Rook wasn’t that desperate – Yet.

Fact remained that she wasn’t expected at Glynco for another week, but she’d arrived early on purpose, wanting to take in the sights. After all, she’d never really had time before and she certainly wouldn’t have time _after_ her eighteen weeks of basic training at FLETC.    
  
So, Rook was set on getting her money's worth while in the city.   
  
That was how she, not so incidentally, stumbled in to a veterans’ bar. Fittingly named The Whole In The Wall, later that afternoon. There was already a surprising amount of people around for it not even being six PM, but there were still plenty of seats open at the counter, thankfully. Most appeared to have arrived in groups and as such took the tables strewn about the room instead.

And that’s where Rook found herself, at the counter, quietly trying to sip some mid-shelf bourbon.   
She’d already drawn her fair share of looks from the other patrons when she walked in and it wasn’t because she was some knock-out billboard model.    
  
That wasn’t Rook selling herself short, she knew she scored a fair few points in the beauty department, but she’d also gotten good at reading people early on and knew it wasn’t necessarily her face that was drawing attention so much as it was the color of her skin...   
  
Seemed this part of town didn’t get many _Indians_.    
  
So, as politely as she could force herself to be, Rook declined offers left and right by fellow veterans... And silently cursed herself for picking the one vet bar on yelp that was popular enough to draw people in well before happy hour.   
  
After turning down her fifth offer for a drink, Rook considered just throwing in the towel and walking out, even swallowing down what was left of her drink in two rather large gulps, ready to take on the reflux and heartburn just so she could get out of there.    
  
That's when she saw him.   
  
A large, broad, red-headed man, burrowed deep in the back of the room by one of the walls with a perfect view of the comings and goings of the bar.    
  
Alone.    
  
A plan began to take form in her head as Rook watched him spin his almost empty glass around in his hand, recognizing his poison to be the same as hers – Bourbon.    
  
He was imposing, even while sat down and hunched over the table. The fabric of his jacket stretched over broad shoulders and muscular arms and it hadn't escaped her notice that the other patrons of the bar were seated a healthy distance away.    
  
Rook spotted dog-tags around his neck, and even in the dingy light she could make out what looked to be chemical burns running over his skin. What little was visible to begin with as only his face, neck and hands were exposed and free of clothing.   
  
There were no tics however, no restless bouncing of his knees and no blank stares out in to space. Going with her gut, Rook called for two more glasses of her previous order, put the cash down on the counter with a tip and a smile for the bartender. She then casually got out of her seat and crossed the distance over to the red-head's section, drinks in-hand.   
  
He tensed the moment she got too close. His shoulders squared, his free hand swept out and made for the edge of the table. So, she put down the brakes, came to a stop and waited for him to finish assessing her – waiting for his eyes to meet hers, before holding out one of the drinks as a peace offering.  
  
“This is yours, if you let me sit here with you for twenty minutes." Rook had always found it best to get as much information across with as few words as possible, it saved everyone time and caused fewer mix-ups. She wanted to make sure that he knew that she was after his company, not his seat – That would have been a horribly rude way to start things off.   
  
His eyebrow cocked and Rook saw brilliant blue eyes, circled by dark, bruised, sleep deprived skin. She had a feeling it wasn’t the bad lighting in the bar that made them look so hollow. Then a none-too-pleasant half-smirk spread over his mouth, drawing the pocket-heavy and scarred skin taut over his cheek – It was a practiced mask, more than likely designed to scare people away.   
  
Because, oh yeah... He was well aware of how feral that expression made him look. Danger practically flashing like a neon sign above his head, as if his confidence and bearing wasn't enough to get that across – He was not a man to be messed with.   
  
"Oh really?" There was a drawl to his surprisingly soft voice that Rook recognized right away. He was a local Georgia boy and that was something she could work with, most of them had _some_ form of manners after all. Even the guys offering her drinks had enough manners to back off when she told them, politely, that she wasn’t interested.    
  
"Yeah, that smirk’s just perfect. If you could direct that at any of the drunks coming our way, I'll gladly buy you another drink. Top shelf and all." Rook promised, hammering in that she already considered them to be a team.   
  
There was some hesitation before those intense blue eyes left her face to do a sweep over the bar and noticed her spurned suitors watching them. Rook stole a glance over her shoulder, they looked perplexed almost, as if they wanted to ask... Why him?

The red-head just barely let a frown touch his brow as he zeroed-in on those who were  _ still _ looking, most turning away so as to not meet his eyes – Not wanting to challenge him.

"They botherin' you?" His hand tightened around the glass, trigger finger tapping out a steady rhythm against the surface.   
  
_Bang. Bang. Bang._

"Haven't had to break any wandering hands yet. Would preferably avoid that all together, truth be told." Rook stepped closer and put the still outstretched glass of bourbon down on the table beside his almost empty one. "What do you say, care to help a gal out? Promise I won't talk your ears off. Just need to step inside the wire for a while."   
  
He had set his stare back down on his glass, jaw locked, maybe trying to block her out, but that little slip had his eyes coming back to her face, taking her in a second time. Recognition glinted to life in those icy blue pools.   
  
"You served." It was a statement, not a question. His eyes travelled down her front, taking in the chain around her neck, the dog-tags tucked under her tee, the Gatorz hanging from the V of said shirt. Her boots, while not military issue, were sensible with a steel tip. The G-shock wristwatch she wore being an older model but still reliable – She wasn’t made of money after all.   
  
Rook knew she screamed military, but habits were hard to break. She gave a nod of her head and deadpanned. "It's a veterans bar." Which earned her an amused scoff and a fuller, wry grin from the red-head. It was soon stamped out when he realized she’d managed to catch him off guard, so he retaliated.   
  
"Some women think it's easy picking grounds, coming in to snag themselves a man." The disdain in his voice would have caught Rook off guard had it not been for his scars, and the fact that she’d just managed to scale those protective walls he surrounded himself with. Instead, she just tilted her head.   
  
"I know. Think that’s what the guys clocked me as when I came in too. But I’m just passing through, headed to Brunswick.” When he said nothing, Rook continued. “Wanted a drink and someplace familiar I guess.”  
  
At that the red-head sighed, his shoulders dropping as he swept a hand out towards the unoccupied chairs around his table, an invitation. She sent him a grateful smile, more relaxed already and picked the chair opposite him. He may have relented in letting her join him, but Rook would not push her luck – Anymore than she already planned to.  
  
"Appreciate it. I'm Evie." Rook set down her own drink and leaned over the table, holding out her hand. She figured her old-timey first name would catch less attention down in Georgia than her uncommon surname, she’d already had her fill of intrusive looks for the day.

"Jacob." He informed her, his own large hand swallowing up hers. It was warm, callous and familiar. He looked surprised then, when instead of letting go, she squeezed and held on. Her thumb pressed lightly over the burns on the back of his hand.  
  
"Thank you, Jacob." Only letting go of his hand when he let out a gruff sound in reply, he shifted in his seat and pulled at the sleeve of his jacket which had ridden up when he’d reached for her, revealing more scars traveling up his arm.   
  
From the way his breath had caught by her touch on his burn and how he’d instinctively moved to pull away, it was clear they made him uncomfortable. So, Rook followed her gut – She addressed the elephant in the room.  
  
"First gulf war?" Taking a seat, she licked at her bottom lip while keeping her eyes locked with the man in front of her... His eyes dipped and zeroed in on the tip of her tongue, then her mouth. There was a deep frown creasing his brow.   
  
"Yeah." Jacob did not offer up more information, which was not unsurprising, but neither had he shot her down, which was promising. So she tilted her head and pointed a finger back on herself.   
  
"Second."   
  
It earned her a thoughtful hum from Jacob, again a surprisingly soft sound for someone so big. Rook let a self-deprecating grin pull at her lips and did her best to level the playing-field, to set him at ease.   
  
"I know, I promised to not talk your ears off, sorry." Her reward was instant as he ducked his head and snorted out a chuckle. It was deep and vibrant, making his shoulders shake and relax and Rook's stomach grew warm – It was a deeply satisfying sound.  
  
"Don't worry about it." Jacob told her, his eyes glittering with amusement. That wry, genuine grin pulling at his mouth. 

Oh yes, following her gut had definitely been a good idea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing chapter 2 as we speak, please be patient with me!


End file.
